


It’s got nothing on your eyes

by Lyesam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Drug Addiction, M/M, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyesam/pseuds/Lyesam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek really is bad news, the Sheriff is worried, and Stiles really shouldn't but does anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s got nothing on your eyes

Stiles is bored. He’s been bored for years. He’s downed pill after pill trying to gain some focus, but he can never concentrate for longer than a few moments at most. He hates his ADHD. He hates his life, really, and he shouldn’t. He’s got a best friend he would put his life on the line for, he’s got a dad who loves him and he gets on with, he’s smart, and he’s not sick or anything, but there’s still a buzz of adrenaline layering the outside of his skin, thrumming and waiting to spike.

His alarm sounds for the fifth time this morning, and Stiles pulls himself out of bed, arms flapping as he stumbles from the comforter. He never slept well, and last night was no exception. Light seeps through the gaps in his blinds, dust dancing in the strips of light. His room is a mess, clothes and god knows what else shoved into corners, making just enough room for a small path of grey carpet.

Stiles kicks an offending piece of orange fabric he swears he never wear and hops down the hallway, feet burning on the icy cold wood. He enters his bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror that’s covered with a layer of grime that he and his dad are way too lazy to clean. If his mum were here she’d be yelling at them to get it together, and Stiles tries not to feel bad. The waters freezing when he washes his face and he makes a horrid sound in the back of his throat when it hits his face. He’s about to take a shower when he takes a whiff of the air and narrows his eyes. He would know that smell _anywhere._

His irritation mixes with his worry and he snaps, “Dad!” while tumbling down the stairs. 

His father looks at him from the kitchen, spatula in one hand and an expression as guilty as the kid who took a cookie from the cookie jar. “I can explain,” his dad says. The pink apron tied around his waist says ‘Best Chef 2k10’, a present Stiles had bought him as a joke last year that his dad ended up liking more than he had planned. 

“Go on,” Stiles says, crossing his arms. 

“The neighbour—“

“Which neighbour?” Stiles was a master at catching lies, and he could sniff this one right out, literally.

His dad swallows and gestures at the pan sizzling two strips of bacon. “The one on the left, um, Sally. She uh—needed some bacon cooked for her kids so I thought I’d be a good neighbour and help her out.”

“Uh-huh. And she only needed two strips when she’s got four kids?”

His dad sinks back into the shadows of the kitchen, guilty as all hell. Stiles sighs—ever since his dad had gotten his blood test results back and his cholesterol levels were at dangerous levels, Stiles had been on the prowl to smack his dad’s hand whenever he so much as went near any fatty foods. He’d already lost one parent, he wasn’t going to lose two.

He stalks into the kitchen and grabs a plate from the cupboard, giving his dad a dirty look as he passes. He stares right into his eyes as he grabs the spatula from his hand and pulls the bacon from the pan teasingly, plopping it on his plate. “Thanks, dad,” he says cheerily, picking a particularly crunchy bit to munch on while his father watched in despair.

His dad slinks away, probably to go cry or something, and Stiles plops himself down on the couch, watching some mind numbing T.V that really doesn’t help the buzz he always feels lessen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Psst, dude,” Scott whispers in Economics while Stiles ignores the questions on his paper and instead details the significance the bible had on the world. When he doesn’t look up immediately, Scott nudges him with his pencil that stabs into Stiles’ skin.

He gives Scott a look of utter betrayal and Scott grimaces and mouths ‘sorry’.

“Did you hear about Derek Hale?”

Stiles scrunches his face and tips his head to the side, racking his brain for the awfully familiar name. “Derek who?” he ends up saying, frustrated that the fog in his brain caused by the buzz is preventing him from remembering.

Scott gives him a disbelieving look. “You know, _Derek,_ Derek. The guys who’s house burnt down when he was a kid. He’s a couple of years older than us and is really creepy.”

“Oh,” Stiles clicks. “Yeah, what about him? Didn’t he leave, like, five years ago?”

Scott shakes his head and gives him a manic grin that bubbles the excitement in Stiles’ stomach. “He’s back in town apparently.”

It’s the best goddamn news he’s heard all week. If he has to spend another five months in this cell block of a school with no cool mysteries and adventures, he’s going to go crazy. Seriously. Who painted all the walls grey and thought it was a good idea?

The economics teacher, also the coach of the lacrosse team, gives them a withering glare and barks, “Stilinski, McCall! Shut it before I move you so far away from each other you won’t be able to make eyes puppy at each other ever again. Greenburg, put down your hand.”

Scott and Stiles both drone, “Yes coach.”

To be honest, Finstock kind of creeps Stiles out. He has wild blue eyes that look like they’re a second from popping out of his head, hair black as ink, and a smile as wild as a hyena. He’s also mean as anything, but the boys from the lacrosse team seem to like him enough.

Stiles stop his essay on the bible and chews on the end of his pencil, leaving teeth marks all over the thing. Derek won’t leave his mind, and it plagues him right up until lunch when he sits in front of Scott with his food tray and says, “dude, we totally need to sneak into Derek’s property.”

 Scott coughs out a piece of rice that sticks to Stiles hand. He flails and flicks it off with disgust.

 “Sorry,” Scott shrugs, “But are you implying that we should break in to _Derek,_ Derek’s house?”

“You really don’t need to say Derek twice anymore, I get the picture.” Stiles scans the cafeteria with a keen eye, not that he thinks anyone can hear him over the loud buzz of teenagers talking shit about their teachers and crying over grades. “We should go there tonight. Your mom’s still got her bat, right? You can bring that and I’ll bring my dad’s flashlight and we can check out the ruins of his house. I doubt he’s even there anymore, anyway. Actually, you know what, why haven’t they bulldozed that thing down by now? It’s ancient, and _burnt._ It’s not exactly fit for living anymore.”

Scott gives him a glazed look then shakes his head. “Dude, we can’t just sneak in to someone’s property. Especially not Derek Hales’.”

"I get it,” Stiles says, “Derek is probably a creepy serial killer or something that will shoot anyone within a hundred metres, but _come on,_ it’ll be fun!”

Stiles keeps whining until Scott finally gives in with a huff, wearing a face like he wants to bury him six feet under. They agree to meet up that night at Scott’s house, and Stiles is bursting with energy from head to toe. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel tired anymore. 


End file.
